Just A Shot Away
by thorfinn965
Summary: Never, ever trust Antonio to bust you out of prison. It will go horribly wrong. (Set after the events of The Tempest, Antonio/Sebastian)
1. Just A Shot Away

"You'll be king, Sebastian. It'll be easy, Sebastian. Just kill your brother, Sebastian. If I got rid of Prospero, you can get rid of Alonso, Sebastian. Don't be a coward, Sebastian."

"Shut up, Sebastian."

Sebastian quit his pacing, folded his arms across his chest, and dropped to the dungeon floor with a loud _thud_. "Fuck you, Antonio."

Antonio merely smiled, although Sebastian couldn't see anything remotely amusing about the situation. For a brief moment on the island, it had seemed as though Prospero had forgiven them for his exile and was even going to decline to tell King Alonso about their plot to dispose of him and set the crown on Sebastian's head. But then the re-invested Duke of Milan's conscience had returned—or perhaps he had finally put the picture together and realized that his daughter's beloved was the only thing except for an aging king that stood between a would-be murderer and the throne of Naples. And so as the whole company was readying to make the voyage back to Naples, Prospero had let slip the details of their failed plan into Lady Gonzala's ear, and she had informed King Alonso, and Sebastian and Antonio had been thrown in the brig for a long, dark trip home with the bilge water oozing around their ankles and nothing but stale hardtack to eat. Upon their return to Naples, they had briefly been cleaned up and made to attend Miranda and Ferdinand's wedding. After the ceremony was over, Alonso had informed the entire gathering of their duplicity and promptly shepherded them off to the dungeon, where Gonzala locked them up and informed them they would be staying until further notice.

It had been two days since then, and their guard had been impressively mute when they questioned him about Alonso and Prospero's intentions. Perhaps he had also become vexed at Antonio's sarcastic remarks about his intelligence, since he brought them nothing more than a single loaf of stale bread for dinner.

Sebastian sighed as he picked up the thing that looked disturbingly like a rock. "This is what comes of ambition, Antonio. A cold cell and hard bread."

Yet still Antonio smiled as Sebastian tossed him a chunk of bread. It was only when Sebastian looked down at what remained in his lap that he realized this was probably because he had given Antonio the larger half of the loaf.

"On the contrary, my lord Sebastian," Antonio said, flicking the bread into the air, catching it, and then tossing it up over and over again.

"What's that, my lord Antonio?" Sebastian retorted, cocking an eyebrow. "Do you have some brilliant plan to get us out of here? Does it involve crossing out fingers and hoping the guard magically falls asleep so we can brain him with half a loaf of bread?"

Antonio said nothing. He just kept smiling.

"Oh God. That's actually your plan, isn't it?"

Antonio opened his mouth, but Sebastian cut him off before he could say anything. "Count me out of whatever crazy scheme you're about to butcher. I've had enough."

For the first time since Ferdinand and Miranda's wedding, Antonio's smile wavered. "But, Seb—"

"No." Sebastian swallowed the last of his bread and curled up his side, his back to the ex-Duke of Milan. "Leave me alone, Antonio."

* * *

><p>Prison life was not treating Sebastian very well. In the week since they had been locked up, the dank dungeon air had settled in his lungs and left him with a cough that wracked his whole body and a chill that shook him from head to toe.<p>

Antonio sat in the corner of the cell, watching him toss and turn and cry out in his sleep. He seemed to be having nightmares more often than not these days, although he refused to talk to Antonio when he asked about them. Actually, Sebastian had refused to talk to Antonio about pretty much anything over the past few days.

"The devil speaks in him!" Sebastian cried, rolling onto his side and throwing out a hand. "M'lord Prospero, have mercy!"

Of course his dreaming mind was dragging him back to the island. That accursed island, where over the course of a mere three hours Antonio's hopes had been catapulted into the heavens and then come crashing back down to shatter on the cold, hard earth. If only Gonzala hadn't heard that blasted humming. If only Ferdinand hadn't returned from the dead. If only Prospero hadn't reared his bookish head again. If only, if only…

He could have made Sebastian a king. They could have ruled together, Milan and Naples.

Antonio shrugged his jacket off. It was the same jacket he had worn to Claribel's wedding in Tunis, the same jacket he had worn on the island, the same jacket he had worn to Miranda and Ferdinand's wedding, the same jacket he had still been wearing when Adrian and Gonzala had plucked him from the feast and thrown him down into the dungeon.

"Smell how fresh this garment is now, Lady Gonzala," he laughed softly to himself as he draped it over Sebastian's shivering form. "But it will keep you warm, my lord Sebastian. My king."

Sebastian muttered something in his sleep and clutched at the jacket.

"I've gotten us into quite a fix, haven't I?" Antonio mused as he stripped off his shirt, folded it as neatly as he could, and slid it under Sebastian's head. "I'm sorry," he whispered, stroking Sebastian's unkempt brown hair. "I'll get us out of here, I promise."

* * *

><p>"You look—" Sebastian broke off as he hunched over for a coughing fit. "—good without a shirt."<p>

"You'd look even better," Antonio grinned.

It took Sebastian a moment to shake the fog of sleep out of his mind and remember that he was supposed to be furious with Antonio for getting him thrown in jail. But just as the anger was rising in his throat again, he felt the weight of Antonio's jacket on his shoulders and saw the goosebumps on the other man's arms.

"Thanks for this," Sebastian said, trying to hand the jacket back to Antonio as he started sneezing violently.

"Keep it." Antonio passed the jacket back, a peace offering.

Sebastian felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth as he put it on, pausing for a moment to admire the other man's lithe fencer's muscles and bronzed skin. He was the exact opposite of Sebastian, who'd been scrawny and sickly ever since he was a child.

"You know what make you look truly fantastic?" Sebastian murmured.

"What?" Antonio said, dropping to the floor next to him.

Sebastian propped himself up on one elbow so he could reach over to tug on the leg of Antonio's pants.

"And here I thought you were angry at me," the one-time Duke of Milan laughed, grabbing Sebastian's hand and pulling him closer.

Sebastian nuzzled Antonio's neck, smiling through his ragged breaths as he drank in the musky scent of sweat and steel that he had not realized was so dear to him until he had feared he would lose it amidst the roaring waves and howling winds as the deck splintered beneath his feet.

"I believe my exact words were 'fuck you,'" he whispered before he was seized by another coughing fit.

Antonio slowly rubbed his back until the hacking gasps subsided. "Priorities, my lord Sebastian. Let's get out of this cesspit first."

"And how do you plan to do that?"

"Well, we could just wait for Alonso to set us free. You're his sickly little brother. He won't keep you locked up here forever, he knows you wouldn't last a month. Besides, you weren't the one who proposed the plan to murder him."

"But he'll leave you here."

Antonio ruffled Sebastian's hair, sorrow and laughter dancing in eyes that were so dark they were almost black. "I'm a menace."

"Yes, but you're _my_ menace," Sebastian murmured. "So what are we going to do?"

"You are going to cough like you're dying, I'm going to call for a guard, we're going to bash him on the head and break out of here, then we're going to hop aboard the first ship headed out of Naples."

Sebastian sighed. "And go where?"

"I don't know. Marseille. Angers. London. Maybe back to Milan eventually. I still have friends there. I think."

"That's a horrible plan, Antonio."

"Is not. Watch—you start coughing now, and we'll be out of here within the hour."

It was Antonio's reckless smile that made Sebastian roll his eyes and start coughing and hacking up what felt like both his lungs, plus whatever bits were attached to them.

"Guard!" Antonio shrieked. "Guard!"

The guard appeared right on cue, saw the king's brother convulsing on the floor of his cell, and promptly unlocked the door. Two quick punches from Antonio knocked him flat on his back.

"Ready to go?"

Sebastian's coughing shuddered to a stop as he took Antonio's hand and pulled himself to his feet. He tossed Antonio's jacket back to him and started fiddling with the guard's swordbelt, his fingers trembling as he strained to hear the sound of pounding boots racing down the corridor.

"No time for that." Antonio reached down and grabbed the saber, leaving the small dagger for Sebastian. "Come on."

Antonio grabbed Sebastian's hand, and Sebastian let himself be led through the dungeons and straight into the arms of another pair of guards. They charged, swords drawn, and Antonio thrust Sebastian behind him as he stepped forward to meet them.

There was the silver rattle of steel on steel as Antonio engaged the first guard with a smooth flick of his wrist, calm and confident and wearing a reckless smirk plastered across his face as he dueled the other man to the ground with one hand behind his back. He whirled to face the second guard, but before their blades could touch, Sebastian tucked his dagger between his thumb and his palm and sent it hurtling toward his chest.

"I could have taken him."

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Sebastian coughed, pulling the knife out and wiping the blade on the guard's uniform.

"Thank you for killing the man I was only going to incapacitate. Now come on."

And then they were off and running again, hurtling up the stairs two at a time and snuffing out every torch they came across, plunging the dungeon into darkness behind them.

"Prisoners on the loose! Prisoners on the loose!" The cry sounded from out of the blackness amidst the clatter of armor and the thud of falling bodies just as the duo reached the ground floor of the palace.

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Sebastian moaned as the slap of more guards' boots closed in from either end of the corridor.

"This way!" Antonio hissed, grabbing Sebastian's hand again and dragging him off down a dimly-lit side hall that ended in a series of winding spiral staircases.

"Why are we going up? We'll be trapped on the roof!"

Antonio ignored him and kept running. Sebastian cast a frantic glance over his shoulder and saw that the guards were close enough that the torches were bending their shadows around the stairs, swords straining toward them.

"Antonio…"

"Shut up, Sebastian."

"Antonio, you know the hallway this leads to is a dead end."

"Fuck."

The stairs finally ended, spilling them out into a narrow corridor lined with windows on one side and crumbling tapestries on the other. The far end was ominously dark and showed no sign of having a door.

"Are you sure?" Antonio growled, fingers tightening around the hilt of his stolen saber.

"I grew up in this castle," Sebastian wheezed. "There are approximately—twenty guards—between us and the only way down—from here."

"Or not." Before Sebastian could utter a protest, Antonio slammed his shoulder into one of the windows and dragged them through the shattering glass.

"Antonio, you little shit!" Sebastian screamed as they plummeted toward the waves, clinging tightly to each other's arms.

Antonio grinned his perfect smile, and then the waters of the Gulf of Naples closed over their heads. Sebastian wrenched his wrists free from Antonio's hands and kicked his way back to the surface, teeth chattering violently and hair plastered down over his eyes.

"Shoot them!" roared a voice from the castle that sounded suspiciously like Prince Ferdinand.

Sebastian gulped in a lungful of air and ducked back under the water as the thrum of crossbow strings echoed against the castle's walls. As the guards reloaded, he struck off in the direction of the harbor. That was when he noticed Antonio floundering a few feet away, barely managing to keep his head above the rolling waves.

"You jumped out—a fourth story window—into the Gulf of Naples—when you can't even swim," Sebastian coughed as he paddled over to the other man, dodging another round of bolts. "Hold your breath," he ordered as he folded Antonio's arms securely around his chest and dove deeper into the murky water.

"But you swim so well," Antonio gasped when they surfaced.

"I have also spent the past week—coughing up a lung—in a dungeon. I am not exactly—in top form." Sebastian rolled his eyes and dropped out of sight of the guards again, knifing though the winter-chilled water toward the great hulk of a ship that was slowly navigating its way out of the harbor. The crossbows had stopped firing by the time they reached the boat, but Sebastian wasn't about to look back to see what Ferdinand was doing now.

"Hey!" Sebastian bellowed, treading water next to the three-masted galleon and holding up Antonio with one arm. "Can we get a rope down here?"

To his everlasting surprise, a sailor's head popped over the gunwales, followed shortly by a rope ladder.

"After you, my lord." Sebastian swept a mocking bow, his nose touching the water, and motioned for Antonio to start climbing the ladder before he followed close behind. When they collapsed on deck a few moments later, clothes dripping in a puddle of seawater, they were immediately surrounded by a motely group of sailors. Some bore the insignia of Naples sewn hastily onto their jackets, a few boasted the Spanish flag, and several more sported the French fleur-de-lis. All were in need of a long bath and a good shave.

"Who're you?" grunted one of the men with Neapolitan arms.

"I'm Mercutio, he's Cassio," Antonio said quickly. "We've just had a bit of a scrap with Alonso's guards. Apparently we look like the pair of troublemakers who plotted against the king's life."

The men exchanged knowing looks and began to chuckle to themselves as the sails billowed and snapped in the strong eastern wind. In a few short moments, Naples was nothing but a thick line on the horizon.

"Welcome aboard _La Tempesta_," said the man with the ragged grey ponytail and bejeweled saber who Sebastian assumed was the captain.

A flash of recognition shot through Antonio's eyes, causing Sebastian's stomach to plummet to his boots. Why couldn't Antonio's plans work, just once?

"Would you like to join the crew, m'lords?" the captain asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Or is it back into the sea with you?"

Antonio staggered to his feet, his hand immediately going to his hip for the hilt of a saber that was somewhere at the bottom of the sea. His mouth moved without sound for a few moments before he finally managed to speak again.

"That's not much of a choice now, is it, Captain Araey?" He spat at the man's feet. "Give me a quill. I'll sign your damned articles."

"I will too," Sebastian piped up, watching uneasily as the crew started peeling off their embroidered jackets and ripping off their insignias before one man ran below decks and started to distribute a pile of plain linen shirts and leather jerkins. There was also a disturbingly large number of swords and daggers and axes mixed in with the clothes.

Antonio and Sebastian were led across the rocking deck to the captain's cabin, where they were presented with a gull-feather quill and a book opened to a page of weathered signatures. Antonio stabbed the pen into the inkwell and signed 'Mercutio' with a flourish, then handed it off to Sebastian so he could quietly inscribe 'Cassio' beneath it. They handed over all their garments with the royal crests of Naples and Milan to the quartermaster and were each issued a worn leather vest and an old sword before being turned loose on the deck again.

"Did—did we just become pirates?" Sebastian asked, running a hand through his ragged brown hair and watching a gull circling the mainmast overhead.

"Yes," Antonio replied curtly. "I'm sorry, this was a horrible idea, we should have just stayed—"

"Cap'n Araey!" Sebastian called, scuttling into the rigging and leaning into the wind, laughing as the sea foam splashed in his face. He gulped in the clean new air, clearing out the last of the dungeon's dankness from his lungs. "Where are we headed?"

The captain bit back a grin as he glanced up. "To the New World."

"The—the New World?" Antonio spluttered, a look of horror on his face. "But—but—"

"No rotting carcass of a butt for us, Mercutio!" Sebastian laughed, climbing higher into the rigging and watching the seas unfurl before them in row after row of dancing waves.

"Run up the flags, lads!" Araey commanded. "Lower the mizzenmast! I want to be passing Gibraltar before the week is out!"

Up went the black flag, and down came the white sails.

And Sebastian smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>

**Wow. It has been a ridiculously long time since I've posted anything here, and it will probably be a ridiculously long time before I post anything again. Sorry...**

_**The**** Tempest **_**and all its characters belong to good old William Shakespeare. Thanks, Shakespeare, for giving us so many wonderful plays full of ships and shipwrecks...**


	2. Drink Up Me Hearties

Antonio stood at the stern of _La Tempesta_, shaking his head slowly and watching as the Straits of Gibraltar faded into the distance. They should have jumped ship when Captain Araey docked at Tunis to resupply, but Sebastian had cautioned against it in case they were recognized by his niece, Queen Claribel. Antonio had bowed to Sebastian's reasoning, assuming that they would have a second chance for escape before they reached the open ocean. And they had indeed made a final stop in Ceuta, but by then it was too late—Sebastian had fallen in love with the sea.

And so here they were, stuck on a floating tub bound for the New World with a crew of murderers and vagabonds. Not that Antonio and Sebastian were much better than them, as Sebastian was all too quick to mention.

"Look at poor Milan," snickered a voice from behind him. "Pining after land already."

"Stop calling me that," Antonio snapped, whirling around to face the woman and immediately wishing he hadn't as his stomach lurched. He had thought, when they were first hauled aboard the ship, that it was crewed by men alone. It wasn't until several days into their voyage that he had discovered that three of the sailors were actually a trio of Florentine sisters.

"I'll call you whatever I please," the woman laughed. Annetta Acquati, her name was. The youngest sister. His least favorite of the trio.

"Leave him be, Annetta. He just gets seasick."

"I do not get seasick, Sebastian—" Antonio stopped mid-sentence as he heaved up the remnants of his breakfast over the side of the ship.

"You were saying?" the Florentine woman smirked. "And I could have sworn you said his name was Cassio the other day."

Antonio scowled, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword.

"It's Sebastian Cassio," Sebastian said, slipping smoothly between Antonio and Annetta. "And he's Mercutio Antonelli, but most of the time I just call him Antonio—"

Of course it was at that moment that Captain Araey chose to appear on deck. "What's this?" he barked. "I'll have no mindless quarrels on my ship." He glared at Antonio until he removed his hand from his sword. "Perhaps you've not heard this story about me, Mercutio—or whoever you might be. Any man who raises a hand to one of his crewmates aboard _La Tempesta_ loses it. When most of the Spanish Armada and half the British Navy is screaming for your blood, you cannot afford to have your crew at swordpoint with one another." Araey spun on his heel and started to make his way toward the wheel before pausing to throw a last remark over his shoulder. "And Annetta would beat you in two minutes."

Antonio was about to reply when he felt his stomach lurch again and promptly lunged for the railing.

"I hate the sea."

* * *

><p>This was the life that Sebastian was born for. The wind in his hair, the sea spray on his face, the shifting deck beneath his feet. Here, far away at last from his brother Alonso's shadow and the suffocating walls of Naples, he could be himself. He thought he had heard the first whisper of freedom on Prospero's Island, when it had seemed as though all he had to do was put a sword through Alonso's heart and the crown would be his, but that had been a lie. Kingship was not freedom. Kingship was a burden. Out on the open sea, now that was where he was free.<p>

"How long 'til we reach the New World?" Sebastian asked Imelda, the eldest of the Florentine sisters.

"With good weather, probably a little less than two months." Imelda paused in her inspection of the ship to lean on the rail next to Sebastian. She was the one who had taught him how to scrub the salt from the deck without getting blisters all over his hands, how to furl and unfurl the sails in coordination with the rest of the crew, how to climb to the crow's nest and not fall straight down into the sea below. She had also given him a small flintlock pistol and shown him how to use it. Much to Sebastian's surprise, it seemed that he was a natural with firearms.

"I don't think Antonio will make it that long." If he kept heaving everything he ate up over the side of the ship, he would be nothing but skin and bones by the time they reached the New World. When they had first set out, Sebastian was glad that for once in his life he was not the sick one, but he was beginning to worry for his friend.

Imelda handed him a small vial of brown liquid. "See if you can get some of that into him. It's a ginger tonic I used on Edan and Giovanni when they used to get seasick all the time. A few drops at each meal should do the trick."

"Thanks," Sebastian said, slipping the vial into a pocket of his oversized leather vest and turning back to the sea. "What will happen when we cross the ocean?"

"We'll be in the New World. Assuming we don't have half the British fleet on our tails, we'll probably make for Nassau to start with. It's a good place to gather news. After that, who knows? We go where the wind takes us." Imelda paused for a moment, staring out at the gentle waves. "Though I wouldn't be surprised if that wind blew us straight into Port Royal. _La Tempesta_ and her crew have a few bones to pick with the British dogs there."

_Nassau. Port Royal._ Sebastian mouthed the words to himself, savoring their taste on his tongue. New lands, so far away that Naples was nothing more than a story to their inhabitants. Lawless lands. British lands—Sebastian was suddenly struck by a bolt of gratitude for the childhood illnesses that had kept him shored up inside with a tutor while Alonso fenced and rode and hunted. Because of those long hours coughing in the library, he was fluent in not only his native Italian, but also in English, French, Spanish, and Portuguese.

"What quarrel does _La Tempesta _have with the English?" Sebastian asked.

Imelda's eyes narrowed. "We lost almost all of our crew to them last year. Tornitore, our first mate. Guiseppe Gerardo, the second mate. Both the Aldos. Emiliano. That's why we've spent the past few months in the Mediterranean, gathering new recruits. Edan, Giovanni, Gin, Nino." Imelda rattled off a long list of names. "Practically everyone except for me and my sisters and Fiorenzo."

"Any reason in particular why you had to sail back across the Atlantic to find yourselves a crew?"

The woman shrugged and said, matter-of-factly, "Would _you_ sail on a cursed ship?"

* * *

><p>"A cursed ship? Where'd you hear that, Seb? Drinking rum with the Acquatis?" There was scarcely any light belowdeck, save for the moonlight that filtered through from above. Antonio had only the vague impression of the other man's face, but he didn't need light to know what its expression would be—fine eyebrows arched, lower lip caught between his teeth, unkempt brown hair falling in front of his eyes as a blush rose to his cheeks.<p>

"Imelda told me."

"Did she tell you the world was flat too? Come on, Seb, you're too old to believe in cursed pirate ships."

The words had barely left Antonio's mouth when there was a loud _bang_, followed by several softer _thuds._ He shot bolt upright, sending his hammock swinging violently and nearly pitching him out onto the floor before he realized it was only someone making his way belowdeck.

"Get out of my bloody hammock."

_Her way_, Antonio corrected himself.

Sebastian scrambled to vacate the hammock that apparently belonged solely to Sara, the middle Florentine sister, who had just finished her watch. Apparently he was taking too long, so she gave the netting a sharp tug and dumped him out onto the floor before scrambling up the rope ladder herself.

"Sorry," Sebastian muttered, picking himself up off the deck. "Everywhere else was taken."

"I've had this hammock for five years," Sara replied. "When you've been on this ship for that long, you've a right to your own bunk. Not that you two will make anywhere close to five years here."

"Why's that?" grumbled Antonio. He was scanning the crew's quarters for another empty hammock, but all the ones he could see appeared to be already taken.

"The curse." She gave a pointed, end-of-discussion yawn and rolled over.

"Oh not that again—"

"What is this curse?"

"Half-wit men who insist on keeping Sara Acquati awake after she's been on watch for six hours die a horribly painful death. Now good night."

The deck creaked as Sebastian shifted from foot to foot, doubtlessly coming to the same conclusion Antonio had reached several moments ago. There were no empty hammocks left.

Antonio rolled over and stretched out the canvas hammock. "Well, come on, unless you want to spend the night rolling around on the deck."

"Thanks." Sebastian crawled nimbly into Antonio's hammock, and Antonio instinctively curled his body around that of the smaller man, draping his arm around his thin shoulders and pulling him close.

That old sense of protectiveness flared in Antonio's chest. He remembered how he had first met Sebastian, all those years ago when his father had brought him and Prospero to Naples on some diplomatic expedition, the purpose of which he had long ago forgotten. What he remembered was the sickly boy he had sat next to at the state dinner, the boy with the hollow cheeks and waxen skin who had pushed the roasted peacock morosely around his plate and kept his eyes downcast.

_I'm Antonio di Milan,_ Antonio had said, nudging the boy's foot and holding out his hand.

_S-Sebastian,_ the other boy had stammered, not looking up from his plate. _Alonso's brother._

_ Do you know how to fence? _Antonio, undeterred by the Sebastian's timidity, had pressed on. _I'm a much better fencer than Prospero. All he ever wants to do is sit and read. I'm going to be the best fencer in Italy when I grow up, did you know that?_ Oh, how naïve he had been back then…

Sebastian had jerked his head back and forth and started to cough. _Father says it would be too—too strenuous. But Alonso knows how. I watch him sometimes. I don't think he's very good. You could probably beat him, easy._

_ Why is fencing too strenuous? _Nothing had ever been "too strenuous" for Antonio. Even back then, when he could have been no older than thirteen, his body was a mass of lean, tightly coiled muscles. His skin was always tanned several shades past its natural olive tones by long days spent out in the summer sun, his jet black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of his face.

Sebastian's fork had scraped across his plate then, pushing the peacock as far away from himself as he could. _I'm sick, _he'd answered simply.

_With what? _Antonio couldn't remember ever having been sick.

_Dunno. The doctors never say. They just tell Father that I'll get better if I rest. But I rest and I rest, and I think I'm just getting worse._

_ Fencing will make you better._

Antonio had slipped into Sebastian's rooms that night and tried to teach the younger boy some swordsmanship with a pair of wooden practice blades he'd stolen from the armory. The exercise had ended with Sebastian propped up on the edge of his bed, wheezing painfully, and Antonio bending over him, frantically trying to figure out what to do. When Sebastian had finally stopped coughing, Antonio had apologized profusely and promised he would never try to give him a fencing lesson ever again.

To his surprise, Sebastian's pale eyes had narrowed and a frown had tugged at his gaunt cheeks. _No. I want to learn. I'll be more careful, just keep teaching me… Please?_

Antonio couldn't turn him down, and so Sebastian's lessons had continued. Every time the Duke of Milan had come to the Neapolitan court, Antonio had managed to find some reason to tag along. Then, while the Duke and the King discussed politics, Antonio had instructed Sebastian on how to fence, how to ride, how to hawk, even how to dance. At first their lessons had been halting, interspersed sporadically with periods where Sebastian would slump to the ground and gulp for air. But slowly, he grew stronger. A day came when he could hold his own in a swordfight without doubling over, when he and his little roan mare could chase Antonio and his black stallion through the forests, when he could swing the lure and his falcon would drop like a thunderbolt onto his wrist. And when they returned to the castle, they would dance the night away…

Antonio was jerked abruptly back to the present by the sound of Sebastian's snores and the creaking of the deck as someone walked toward their hammock. His hand went to the dagger at his waist as his arm tightened instinctively around Sebastian's shoulders.

"You want to know about the curse?" a voice whispered out of the darkness.

Antonio relaxed his hold on the dagger and breathed a small sigh of relief. It was only Imelda Acquati.

"No, I don't, but I have the distinct feeling I'm going to hear about it anyways," he hissed under his breath, trying not to wake Sebastian.

Imelda's smile flashed in the darkness. "Fifteen years ago, this ship was cursed by an Algerian witch named Sycorax—every time she weighs anchor, a man must die before she can dock again."

"So why don't you crew the ship with women?" Antonio shot back.

Imelda laughed. "Why do you think Araey enlisted me and my sisters, and now young Gin too? But he can't have every one of _La Tempesta_'s crew be a woman, else he'd be the only man left aboard and sure to die before he saw port again."

"Well, you needn't worry about us. We'll be leaving as soon as we reach the New World and hopping aboard the first ship headed back to Italy."

The Florentine woman shook her head sadly. "No you won't."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You signed the articles, didn't you?"

Antonio nodded reluctantly, a leaden weight settling on his chest as he heard the words before they even left Imelda's mouth.

"Then you're bound to the ship forever. If you spend more than two nights away from it, you will die. Take it from me, I've seen my fair share of deserters struck down by lightning or drowned or turned into trees. If I were you, I'd treasure what you have while you still have it." And then Imelda was gone, vanished back into the blackness of the ship's hold.

Antonio had never believed in in magic or curses or ghost stories. Until Prospero's Island, that was. Until the banquet and the harpies and the thunder and the lightning and the dagger that he could not remember drawing from its sheath until he was pointing it towards his own heart.

Why couldn't the world go back to the way it was? Back to the days when life was simple and mundane? He didn't even really care that much whether or not he was Duke of Milan or Sebastian was King of Naples, so long as they were together and free and not on a cursed pirate ship…

"Antonio," Sebastian murmured in his sleep, his fingers tightening around Antonio's arm as he shifted and pulled it closer.

"Sebastian," Antonio replied, nuzzling the other man's hair. "I won't let the curse take you. I promise."

"And how do you plan on doing that?"

Antonio's eyes flew open and the dagger leapt back into his hand. Annette Acquati had snuck up on him without a sound and was leaning up against the side of this ship, a lantern in her crossed hands.

"Are you the three Fates or something?" Antonio hissed under his breath.

"To the extent of my knowledge, no. But we do know a little more than the average sailor, especially given that the lifespan of the average sailor on this ship is about a year." She hung the lamp on a post and crossed the few steps between the side of the ship and Antonio's hammock. "For example, we know how to lift the curse."

"Tell me."

"Tsk, tsk, Milan. Surely you learned better manners than that at court."

"Please."

The youngest of the Florentine sisters sighed. "Since you asked so nicely… The curse will be broken when fire dances in the sky, when the seas freeze and the mountains fall, when Ariel takes the wheel and sails us into tomorrow."

"In other words, never."

Annette Acquati shrugged carelessly. "That is what the witch said, and my sisters and the captain and I are the only ones left who remember it. Sleep well, Milan. Tomorrow, there will be a storm."

* * *

><p>And a storm there was, with pitch black clouds and howling winds and hungry waves. Antonio wanted to insist that Sebastian stay belowdeck, but the other man stubbornly insisted on climbing into the rigging with the rest of the crew to hurriedly reef the sails at Captain Araey's command and then scramble back down and grab a bucket and start bailing out water.<p>

As it turned out, Antonio need not have worried. Sycorax's curse took its toll in the form of the cabin boy, Nino, who was swept off the deck by a particularly vicious wave and swiftly lost to the swirling waters. A short time afterward, the storm abated and _La Tempesta_ sailed on, undeterred by her loss.

It was clear skies and smooth seas after that. Something in Imelda's concoction must have done the trick, for Antonio's seasickness abated before the week was out. He still wasn't happy about being forced into service aboard a pirate ship, but some of Sebastian's enthusiasm was starting to rub off on him by the time they finally sighted land.

"Land ho!" Sara called down from the crow's nest.

Sebastian grinned and swarmed up the rigging to the fighting top, tattered shirt billowing in the breeze and dagger clenched between his teeth, every inch the image of a pirate. Antonio followed suit with a touch more decorum but just as much excitement.

"The New World," Sebastian breathed, shading his eyes with one hand and staring at the grey smudge on the horizon. "Ha! Take that, Alonso!" he shouted triumphantly to the wind. " 'You'll never be anything, Sebastian. No one would mourn you, Sebastian. You're just a sickly second son, Sebastian.' Well look at me now, o brother of mine!"

"You're a pirate, Sebastian. I don't think that's exactly something Alonso would be proud of."

Sebastian grinned. "I know. He'd be mortified. And Father must be rolling in his grave. What do you think Prospero would say if he could see you now?"

"He probably wouldn't be surprised in the least," Antonio grunted. "He never thought I was good for much." Antonio had shown him though, hadn't he? He'd thrown a charge of sorcery in his brother's lap and raised half of Milan against him, and for twelve years _he_ had ruled as Duke. But then Fortune's wheel had turned, and here he was—powerless and penniless while his older brother languished in Milan again.

Sebastian put a hand on Antonio's shoulder. "We'll go back someday. Preferably with a large chest of gold, but I'd settle for silver."

Antonio opened his mouth to tell him about the curse, about how they could never go home, never leave the ship, never spend more than two nights ashore. But Sebastian's face was so bright and full of hope that he just couldn't do it. He would tell him of Sycorax's curse later, when they were safe in Nassau…

* * *

><p>"This New World drink," Antonio slurred, leaning heavily on Sebastian's shoulder. "I like it." There was something else he was supposed to be telling Sebastian, something important, but the Nassau rum had turned his mind to water. Surely whatever it was could wait another night.<p>

Sebastian sighed and draped the bigger man's arm around his shoulders. "Honestly, you're worse than Trinculo and Stephano. Come on, I paid the innkeeper for a room."

"Paid for… But where'd you find money?" Evidently Antonio wasn't drunk enough to forget that they had lost their purses somewhere in the Bay of Naples along with one dagger and most of their common sense.

"Nicked it," Sebastian grinned, steering Antonio toward the stairs. "It's a pirate's life for us, mate."

* * *

><p>In a dim corner of the tavern sat three women in tattered greatcoats and tricorn hats, booted feet on the table and tankards in their hands.<p>

"Antonio's drunk first night ashore. Pay up," Sara Acquati smirked.

Imelda sighed and fished a piece of eight from her pocket, then turned to Annette. "Told you they'd get a room. Pay up."

Annette tipped her hat to her sister and dropped a piece of eight in her hand, then turned to Sara. "What did I say? I'd lose my bet with Imelda. Pay up."

The final piece of eight changed hands, and the sisters were silent for a long moment.

"Hey Sara, I bet you this coin that Antonio'll get drunk again tomorrow."

"Done. Annette, I bet you this coin that Sebastian shoots a redcoat before we get to Port Royal."

"Done. Hey Imelda, I bet you this coin that one of them will die the next time we weigh anchor."

"Done. Although I'm really hoping you're wrong. I've kind of gotten attached to those two…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

**Okay, so apparently I am actually going to keep updating this...**


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